The Education of Sebastian & the Education of Caroline (66 page)

The skirt was so short, I could hardly bring myself to look at it; and I certainly wouldn’t be able to bend over in it with any degree of modesty whatsoever.

I brushed my hair out and applied some of my newly purchased mascara and lipstick. I felt awkward and uncomfortable, a fraud, like I was trying to be something I wasn’t.

But Sebastian’s appraisal was very different from mine.

“Wow! I mean … wow! You look awesome, Caro. Really fucking sexy!”

He ran his hand up my bare thigh and cupped my behind.

“Mmm, this skirt is great: it’s making me horny.”

“Thank you for my presents,” I said, primly. “But right now, I need food more than I need your body, Sebastian.”

He smiled, kissed my neck, then walked over to the door to hold it open for me.

“After you, baby.”

The evening air was still warm, although I suspected it would feel chilly later. I’d brought a sweater with me to wear, although there wasn’t much I could do to keep my legs warm, and I was wishing I hadn’t gone along with Sebastian’s whim. It didn’t help matters that two men walking in the opposite direction whistled at me and called out endearments—rather crude ones.

Sebastian scowled and started to turn, as if he was going to go after them.

“Oh no, eyes front, Hunter. You bought this skirt, and now you’re suffering the consequences: suck it up.”

He frowned, but let me lead him out of the danger zone.

When we found a pizzeria that we liked the look of, I couldn’t help noticing that Sebastian made sure I was seated so that my legs were hidden by the tablecloth. Talk about double standards; it was almost comical. And time for a new topic of conversation.

“What do you want to do tomorrow, Sebastian? Apart from spring your surprise on me?”

He grinned, his good humor instantly restored.

“I thought we could walk up to Capezzano Inferiore, take a look around. Even if there aren’t any Venzis there, it would be kinda cool to see where your dad grew up, wouldn’t it?”

He was so sweet. A complete pain in the ass, but really sweet.

Our pizzas arrived, pepperoni for Sebastian, quattro formaggi for me; and he also ordered a light beer. Then he surprised me.

“Tell me about your place in Long Beach, Caro.”

I didn’t know why it surprised me: maybe because it didn’t seem to be part of ‘us’; maybe I’d been unconsciously avoiding it.

“Oh! Sure, okay. Well, it’s small, a bungalow in an area called the West End. It was built about ninety years ago, and it was pretty beaten up when I bought it. I restored the porch at the front so I can sit out and watch the ocean, and in the winter the windows get covered in salt from the wind coming off the Atlantic. I have some really great neighbors, and they look after the place while I’m away. My friends like to come out from Manhattan on the weekends. You spoke to Nicole, she works in merchant banking; and then there’s Jenna, who’s a bitch-on-wheels attorney, but actually she’s really lovely; and Alice, she’s a Professor of literature at NYU. I met her when I was going to school there…”

I stopped suddenly.

“What’s the matter, Sebastian?”

He’d stopped eating, and was staring at me with dark, angry eyes.

“How am I going to fit in with your life there, Caro? All your friends have these amazing careers … and I’ll just be a jobless grunt with a high school diploma.”

“Sebastian, no!”

“You know what they’ll think: Muscles Are Required Intelligence Not Essential.”

“Hey! No one will think that, and you know what? I don’t give a shit anyway. Sebastian, haven’t we had to listen to enough crap in the past to care less what anyone else thinks now? Isn’t that what you’ve been telling me?”

He shifted in his seat, but didn’t answer.

“Sebastian, do you love me?”

He looked up instantly.

“You know I do, Caro. Sempre.”

“Then whatever happens, we’ll deal. I vaguely remember someone saying that to me. Oh, wait, that was you a couple of days ago. Sebastian, the only thing my friends will care about is that I’m happy.”

I took his hand in mine.

“What about your plans to be a personal fitness trainer? And, jeez, Sebastian, we’ll be in New York: you could do something amazing with your language skills. Don’t go and get all shy on me now, Hunter!”

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax.

“Yeah, okay. Sorry. I just kinda freaked for a moment there.”

“I know and I understand. It’s weird for me, too, and we haven’t been doing this for very long. I guess you could say we’re out of practice with the whole dating thing. I feel very un-me sitting here in this shockingly short miniskirt, but I tried it, for you.”

“Shockingly short?” he said, his grin returning.

I took his hand under the table and let him run his fingers up my thigh.

“Yeah,” he agreed, “shockingly short.”

“Okay, Columbus, you’ve discovered enough for one evening,” I said, slapping his hand away as it began to travel even higher.

He pouted at me, and I laughed out loud.

“Come, tesoro, take me home.”

When we returned to our beautiful room, and our beautiful, large bed, Sebastian made sweet, slow love to me. Maybe it was the romantic setting, or the way we were gradually getting to know each other again and defeat our fears one by one, but the way he touched me seemed to have a new depth and intensity. I was dreading the moment, just a few days away, when we’d have to say goodbye. Again.

We woke with yet another day of bright sunshine spilling in through the open windows.

“Ciao, bella,” he said, copying the words I’d said to him the day before.

“Ciao,” I said, smiling back at him.

I stretched, and several muscles grumbled at me. I’d thought I was in pretty good shape, but I’d been worked over by a US Marine, for several hours. There was definitely something to be said for a having the services of a personal trainer.

Sebastian’s morning wood poked me in the side and his hand drifted over my hip.

Uh-oh, round two. Or three. Were we up to four? What the hell—seconds out.

Signora Carello served us breakfast on a small, private terrace to one side of her villa. She had a tiny garden filled with bougainvillea that was just coming into its full glory.

We invited her to have her coffee with us, and she happily accepted our invitation.

“So, you are hoping to find family in Capezzano Inferiore?”

“Well, that would be the icing on the cake, but really, I just want to see the village where my father came from. If I find family, well…”

She smiled sympathetically and patted my hand.

“Perhaps you will find family in a different way,” she said, glancing at Sebastian, who grinned back at her.

There were several ways I could interpret her remark; I chose to ignore all of them. Although, it wasn’t easy with Sebastian sitting opposite, smirking at me.

We wandered through Salerno, stopping to admire the neat yachts lined up in the harbor.

“I should take you sailing some time,” said Sebastian, staring out at the deep, blue waters of the Mediterranean. “If we had more time, I’d rent us a boat and teach you how to sail.”

“I already know,” I said, smiling at him. “Although I haven’t been out on a sailboat for years.”

“Really?” he said, intrigued. “I didn’t know you could sail.”

“Ah, you don’t know all my talents yet, Hunter.”

He smiled. “I’m looking forward to finding out. But when did you learn?”

Damn, I should have kept my mouth shut—we were definitely sailing into dangerous waters
.

“David taught me,” I said, mildly.

Sebastian’s face clouded over at once. “The asshole?”

It was his favorite name for my ex-husband.

“The very one.”

His good humor evaporated and I sighed. I could have predicted that response—I
should
have predicted that response.

“It was a long time ago, Sebastian. And we agreed we couldn’t change the past, so stop looking so mad, or I’ll have to kiss you indecently in public.”

His expression changed to one of surprise, then darkened perceptibly to lust.

“Nope, still pissed off, Caro. You’ll have to kiss me. I don’t know if it’ll work, but you could try.”

His eyes were challenging.

“Are you sure, Sebastian?” I said, in my most sultry voice. “Because I don’t want to get you all hot and bothered.”

“I’ll risk it,” he said, arrogantly.

I turned to face him, standing so close that our bodies almost touched. And then in full public view, I ran my hand over his ass, up beneath his t-shirt, and dragged my nails down his back. With my other hand I pulled his head down toward me and kissed him hard. And I might have also rubbed him over his zipper, causing him to take a sharp intake of breath.

“Fuck, Caro,” he whispered. “Let’s go back to our room right now.”

I laughed. “No, Sebastian. That was just my distraction technique: which, by the way, I didn’t learn in the Marines.”

He groaned and had to adjust his pants.

“Shall we go to Capezzano Inferiore now?” I said, innocently.

He gave me a look that said payback would be a bitch.

It was a steep walk to my father’s village, but the view more than made up for it. Salerno glittered jewel-like below us, the Mediterranean a polished glass of an implausible cerulean blue. In the crystal-sharp air, we could see a landmass on the horizon that I guessed must be Anacapri.

The village itself was quiet and dusty: a few cars passed us, all heading downhill. There was a fountain in the center that coughed and spurted arthritically, and a skinny dog idly scratched itself. All the life seemed to have been bled out of it, draining down the hill to the more confident town of Salerno. For the first time, I truly understood why my father might have wanted to leave; why America, with all its garish, New World charms, advertised by a thousand color movies, had been such a draw. And, perhaps, why my blonde, blue-eyed mother had seemed like a dream worth chasing.

It was making me sad, and it felt like a mistake to have come here.

“We don’t have to stay, Caro,” said Sebastian, squeezing my fingers.

I sighed. “It’s okay. I don’t know what I was expecting: Papa always said it was a one-horse town where the horse had died. I guess he was right.”

“Look, that guy over there is just opening up his café—let’s go get a drink, okay?”

The café owner was surprised but delighted to have some business. I imagined he didn’t get many customers.

Sebastian ordered a beer and I opted for an espresso. Maybe a shot of caffeine would help to lift my mood.

The beer was served in a frosted glass, and my espresso arrived in a miniature coffee pot with raw cane sugar and a glass of water.

“Excuse me, sir,” said Sebastian, politely. “But my girlfriend’s father came from this village. We were wondering if you might have known him: his surname was Venzi.”

The man scratched his head. “That name seems familiar, but I’m not sure. Let me ask my wife—she’s lived here her whole life.”

My heart began to beat more rapidly, and I sat up anxiously in my seat.

“Don’t get your hopes up, Caro,” Sebastian said, gently.

“No, I’m not,” I lied, unable to beat back the sudden expectation that had flared.

A moment later, the owner’s wife appeared.

“Buon giorno. You are asking after the Venzi family? How can I help you?”

“I was just wondering … my father, Marco Venzi, he was born here. Did you know him?”

“Goodness! Marco Venzi! That’s a name I haven’t heard in a very long time. He was the boy who left to live in America. Your father, you say? Yes, I knew him.”

She knew him. She really knew him. I felt tears welling up in my eyes.

“It’s so exciting to meet someone who remembers Papa,” I choked out, gazing at the woman’s warm and sympathetic face.

“Yes, we were at school together: he was a few years older than me, and always in trouble. He had the devil in him, that one.”

“His daughter is just the same,” said Sebastian, with a quiet smile.

The woman laughed. “And how is dear Marco? Did he make his fortune in America like he said? He was crazy for your American movies. Said he was going to be a big star, like Valentino.”

“Mr. Venzi died some years ago,” answered Sebastian, knowing I was finding it hard to speak.

“Ah, I see,” she said. “Forgive me, young woman, my condolences. Your father was always so full of spirit. Too big for this little town.”

“Do you know if he had any relatives here?” said Sebastian.

“Well, there was his mother, but she died a long time ago. Marco had a sister who was much older than him, I remember. But she married and moved away, to Naples, I think. I’m sorry, I don’t remember the name of the man she married, so that’s all I can tell you.”